Sincerely, Niall [z.h.] ✔

Tuesday May 28, 2013

Dear Zayn, 

     It feels like I've been in the shower for years. My hands have become nothing but prunes. I've scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, yet I still feel dirty after my countless washings. I know I can't get rid of the feeling of his grimy and grubby hands, but it doesn't stop me from trying. My skin is red from the scorching heat of the water and blistering as I harshly cleanse myself. The marks from where the man's fingernails were have long since disappeared, but I can still see them in my mind as I reply the scene over and over. 

     I never told you the rest of that story, did I? No, I suppose I was too upset to finish, or maybe it was the fact that I ran out of lines on the paper. Either way, I got away and made it back home, as you can obviously tell. But it wasn't easy like I wish it were. The man kept touching me and telling me how beautiful I was while I was struggling to keep down vomit. Now that I think about it, I should have thrown up on him. Maybe then he would have let go of me and I could've got away faster. 

     After a while he started to kiss me. It started with soft little neck kisses, and then he started biting me. Hard. He moved his kisses up my throat and to my face. He went for my lips first, and it was the second worst feeling I have ever felt-first being what he was still doing with my lower regions. Oh, gosh, Zee, it was awful. I couldn't breath, I couldn't think, I couldn't move. No one was coming for me. No one knew I was being violated and molested. I was weak and powerless, and I had never hated you more for not saving me. I could've killed you. 

     It seemed like hours before the man actually took his hand out of my boxers and took his mouth away from mine. His breath reeked of alcohol and he gave me a toothy grin. My eyes had stopped crying and my throat was no longer capable of even uttering a sound. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. I don't know what they were, but he took at least seven of them, dry of course. He tried to give me some, but I wouldn't open my mouth when he asked me to. I swear he almost broke my jaw trying to pry it open, but he got his fingers in the way and I did the only thing I could do in that situation-bite down hard on his fingers. So I did. 

     He gave a yelp and pulled his hand away pretty quick, and I felt smug for actually being able to hurt him like he had hurt me. The satisfaction didn't last very long. Shortly after that he hit me real hard in the face, just below my eye. It stung really bad. I guess drunk people can hit harder than sober people, because his blow crashed my head against the wall. I saw stars and I thought I was going to die, but I didn't. The man started to yell at me, but I couldn't hear him over the roar of pain pulsing through my head. The world was spinning, I think, but the man didn't seem to even notice. He was too busy violently shaking me to get my attention. 

     By then my knees got really weak and as soon as he stopped holding me, they buckled and I went sprawling to the ground. The man started to kick me, right in the stomach. Sometimes he hit me in the head, and that hurt the worst. I think I blacked out because when I woke up, some hobo was over top of me, poking and prodding my body. I screamed and he jumped really far into the air before scampering away. My movie and candy were no where to be seen, but at that moment, all I really wanted was to go home and rid myself of the horror that had taken place in the alley. 

     I limped home, leaving my pants on the ground. I didn't have the energy to put them back on, nor carry them with. I had plenty of other pants at home, anyway. I didn't see the damage done by the man until I got home and undressed fully. There were a lot of bruises on my torso, some on my legs and arms as well. My cheek was a dark purple and had a long cut across it, spilling blood down the side of my face. It stung, so I cleaned it with extra care before I painfully got into the shower, where I remained for several hours. 

     When I finally got into bed, I started crying. Everything that had happened that day just hit me, and I couldn't stop the tears from coming. Why didn't you come and save me like you always used to? Why did that man have to pick me-to touch me? Why didn't anyone hear my screaming and come and rescue me? Buttercup came into the room after around ten minutes. She didn't meow for food like she normally did at this time, but rubbed her head against my arm and curled up against my battered stomach. We fell asleep like that, together, and it was nice. I would have much rather had you there with me, but Buttercup would have to do. 

I love you, Zayn. 

Sincerely, 

Niall